The Prints and the Pilot
by Kootenai
Summary: A CabinLock fic! Sherlock has a case from Mycroft, Martin can't get home. It's loosely based off "The Prince and the Pauper".
1. Chapter 1

**Title: The Prints and the Pilot**

**Rating: K (at the moment)**

**A/N: Huge Cabin Pressure fan here. And I love Arthur with a burning passion. He is the most brilliant character in radio. Anyway, this is a Cabinlock fiction. I don't feel up to writing Hybrid at the mo, so sorry to all my subscribers who were looking for the next chapter (which will come out soon).**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock. Don't own Cabin Pressure. Insert sad face here.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

"Toblerones, Skip!"

There was a collective sigh from the crew of GERTI as Arthur Shappey ran from the gate to the nearest duty-free shop. Martin had pulled his Captain's hat down over his short ginger hair, hoping that somehow he wouldn't end up responsible for watching Arthur while he looked for a white chocolate Toblerone. Carolyn gave him a sharp look that told him otherwise. He sighed and glanced over at Douglas, pleading silently for the older man to at least accompany him. Douglas gave him a smirk that told him that he was quite on his own.

"Skip! They have the white ones!"

"Coming, Arthur…" _Dear lord, what I'd do for a day when I don't have to watch him…_

They had landed back in England a few hours ago after flying what seemed to be the longest flight to Chicago Martin had even flown. Douglas had challenged him to a game of "Speaking alphabetically" which had failed when Martin had gotten to the letter "x" and had to call into O'Hare National Airport. There was a smug look from the copilot that made Martin _pretty sure_ that he had calculated the whole thing.

Martin watched a rather happy Arthur grab ten Toblerones and try to stack the triangle packages while figuring out which would make the best purchase.

"Arthur, I'd hate to rush you, but I'd really like to get going."

The steward grabbed what looked like his favorite and bounced up to the cashier, paid and smiled his ridiculous smile, "Right-o, Skip!"

Martin managed a slight smile and led Arthur back to Douglas and Carolyn, who were heatedly in debate about something. He furrowed his eyebrows, feeling the smile fall fast from his face.

"What is it?"

"Well, _sir_, it seems that Carolyn forgot that your living space is under construction and didn't plan on you staying with her and Arthur."

Arthur seemed slightly offended that his mother didn't want his friend to stay with them. "Mum, why not? Martin could stay over and we could talk all night about-"

"That's the thing, Arthur. You talking all night is the very thing I don't want."

He didn't seem to process it as an insult and shrugged, opening the triangular chocolate box.

Martin on the other hand looked very confused, "So where am I supposed to go? I need those twelve hours, Carolyn."

She shrugged and Douglas held up a hand, "Don't even think about it, _sir._ The wife and I are using those twelve hours."

The three of them turned and left Martin all alone in the Heathrow Airport, Arthur giving him a little wave while dragging his carry on behind him. Martin looked around sadly and walked over to a chair in the terminal gate, where he sat down and pulled his beloved hat off and cradled his head.

_**oOo**Teas, coffee? Keys, toffee?**oOo**_

"John, case."

John looked up from his laptop and arched an eyebrow, "What?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and tapped his foot impatiently, "Case."

"I know what you said, but what is the case?"

"Some sort of illegal smuggling to do with small commercial airlines."

John let out a short yawn and blinked a few times. "And why is this interesting?"

Sherlock pulled on his dark coat and fed the blue scarf through a loop in itself so it hung _just so_ on his white shirt. "Mycroft asked, and we know what happened the last time Mycroft asked for something that had to do with an airline."

"Ah, yes. Ms. Adler."

There was a scowl from the detective, "Coming?"

"No, I don't think so."

Sherlock frowned, "Why not?"

There was a look of genuine surprise on John's face, "Sherlock. It is three in the morning. I don't want to go anywhere, least of all on some bloody trip to the airport."

"Fine," he sniffed and walked out of the apartment.

When he reached street level, Sherlock hailed a cab and rode in silence to the airport. _There has to be someway to make this more interesting. Maybe I'll infiltrate an airline… I do have a pilot's license. Undercover always works wonders on getting people to talk._ He smiled to himself and paid the cabbie upon reaching the destination.

When he got out, he passed three people quickly. A younger man with half a Toblerone sticking out of his mouth was getting into a car with an older woman. They were all dressed in the navy blue of a flight crew. Sherlock looked over briefly and saw the younger man staring at him. He raised an eyebrow as the man dropped a pamphlet he had been trying to show the older woman. Sherlock bent down and glimpsed a picture of twelve men carrying a fire engine with the words "_MJN Air"_ typed on the top.

"Skip?"

"You are mistaken," Sherlock replied quietly and handed the pamphlet back, then walked quickly into the airport. _MJN Air…_

He pulled his Blackberry out of his pocket and looked the airline up. _Small, perfect. Just landed from Chicago not three hours ago. _Sherlock looked back in his memories at the group of three. There was the man with the chocolate, an older man who wore a copilot's uniform and an older woman who seemed to be in charge. _No pilot… Interesting._

Sherlock walked through the airport after getting through security. Actually, he snuck through a few doors, but nobody really noticed him without the hat. He strode down the walkways, eyes glued to his mobile screen. Occasionally, he checked arriving flights to make sure he had the right gate number as he made his way towards MJN's arrival gate. Quietly he took a seat a few seats down from a ginger with his head in his hands.

He took a few moments and looked the man over. _Left thumb of a pilot, uniform matches. The uniform and hat seem to be the only well kept thing about him, young man, maybe a few years younger than myself. About my height. Hands seem to indicate usual use of driving a vehicle. So part time job. If he is a pilot, why a second job? Must be the airline isn't paying much or anything. Must like being a pilot then. If that was his airline, then he must live here in London. But since he is here in the airport, odds are he didn't drive here and he can't return home. Girlfriend? No. Construction more likely. Good._

"Excuse me, Captain," Sherlock stated quietly.

Martin looked up, and his face did a few things. First of all, there was disbelief that he was correctly called Captain. Second, there was a blank face as if he was processing the fact somebody wanted to speak with him at all. Third there was utter shock as if he had seen a ghost. He raised his hand slowly, like a cartoon character would do if testing a mirror.

Sherlock humored him and matched the action, "Captain, what are we doing exactly?"

"You l-l-look like… me…"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, taking a moment to look past the uniform and deductions. The man sitting a few seats down had his lips, his cheekbones, his chin, his very general facial structure. The stranger's eyes were a bit bluer, his skin a tad tanner, and definitely the wrong color and length hair, but the resemblance was uncanny.

"So it seems. May I ask the name of my ginger doppelgänger?"

"Cr-crieff. Martin, um no… Captain Crieff," he slowly put out his hand to shake.

Sherlock took Martin's hand, uncharacteristically, and shook it slowly, an idea coming to mind.

"Captain Crieff, my name is Sherlock Holmes, and I would like you to tell me _everything _there is to know about MJN Air."

"What?" Martin looked shocked.

Sherlock gave a bit of a grin and took his hand away, "Let me rephrase that so you understand. Would you like a bit of a vacation, Captain?"

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><p><strong>YAY CABINLOCK! I hope you enjoy it, it isn't done yet. Reviews are my apple tossing, they make me content and happy. It'll be a bit like "Prince and the Pauper" so... ^_^ -Kootenai<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

An hour later the pair of them were walking through the airport together in conversation. Sherlock was wearing the top half of Martin's uniform with the hat pulled over his dark curls and his coat folded over one arm. Martin was wearing a "I love London" sweatshirt that Sherlock had hastily bought upon deciding his next course of action. The two of them walked out of Heathrow and into a cab, Martin just finishing off a few details about the crew.

"…And Arthur, well… He's a bit slow on the uptake. His favorite word is "brilliant" and he is rather good at remembering odd facts and details that don't really mean much."

Sherlock slid into the cab next to Martin, "I'll say it is safe to assume that he also has a fixation with Toblerones."

Blue eyes met each other across the seat, "Well, yes. In fact, he's quite disappointed when there aren't any in the Duty Free shops. Sorry, where are we headed?"

"First off, new clothes for you. Then we are stopping to purchase a few items for myself."

"You never really fully explained what it is that we are doing."

"All in good time, Martin. Now, tell me more about Douglas…"

After two hours of wandering through high-end shops, Martin had a full (and expensive) new wardrobe, paid for by Sherlock with a card that had a strange name beginning with an "M" on it. The pair of them got into another cab, and headed off to the next destination. Sherlock was absent-mindedly playing with the gold braid on the captain's hat.

"Um, please stop that."

The movement stopped immediately and Sherlock fished his phone out of the pocket of the uniform he now wore.

"Can you please give me some idea as to where we are going?"

"Barber."

"What? Why?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow without looking at Martin, "If I am going to pass as you, I need to look like you. If you are even going to attempt passing as myself, you are going to need a bit of help, too."

Martin's mouth opened and closed, reminding him of a fish.

"You are going ginger?"

"Problem?"

"No… I just, wow… I mean, I didn't expect that."

"You should have. It was quite obvious."

It was nine in the morning, London time, when Sherlock and Martin emerged from the private salon. The ginger man stood tall, an air of authority surrounding him as he hailed a cab. His movements were restricted slightly by the Captain's uniform he was wearing, as if he was not quite used to it yet. The brunette man who accompanied him in the large wool coat seemed unsure of his position, fiddling with a blue scarf around his neck. The pair of them slid into the cab together.

"Sherlock-"

The ginger man cut off his companion, "No. Address me as Martin. You need to get used to responding to my name."

There was a whine followed by, "Fine. _Martin_, are you sure this will work?"

"Naturally. I just have to be you for a week or so. Can't be too difficult," there was a quick confident smile that Martin was quite sure had never actually been able to appear on his own face. "Now, John is at work by now. I'm going to give you a quick tour of 221B, some last minute instructions and then I'll be off."

Martin gave a quick nod, not too sure he could pull off being Sherlock at all.

They arrived at Baker Street at half past and Sherlock had finished the tour by ten. Martin ran through his own mental notes while the other man added a few things to the carry on.

"So, John then… I just tell him I don't feel well?"

Sherlock glanced up from packing, not quite used to not having to look through long brown hair to see the person who spoke to him. "That's right. Tell him you finished a case and you need to sleep. If he keeps asking, tell him you are in your mind palace."

"My what?"

"Do you want me to write out a list of things for you to say?" The tone was teasing, something Martin was used to from Douglas.

"Actually… yes. That would help a bit."

Sherlock sighed and started to scrawl out a list of excuses on the back of some sheet music. "Now then, you can leave the room when John goes to work. Avoid any contact with him directly; he'll know you aren't me. Otherwise, you are pretty much free to roam about London as you please. Do not under any circumstances take any cases from Lestrade. Say you are sick, you're tired, or you just don't want to deal with the stupidity of other people. Anything."

He finished writing with a flourish and handed Martin the list. At the bottom there were three phone numbers.

"Whose are these?"

"The first is yours, or rather, the phone I will be using while I am on this case. You may call me, but remember that it is far more likely for me to answer a text. The second is John's. Be familiar with that one, seeing as you will be required to text it if necessary. The third is my brother's. If you need anything, are stuck in a situation you can't handle, or god forbid somebody figures this out besides him, call that number. He will not believe you at first, so you will need to send him this picture."

Sherlock displayed a picture taken on the phone of the two of them in the airport just after they had met. Martin nodded and took the Blackberry gently between his fingers.

"Remember, it is far better you say nothing at all. Best of luck, Captain," Sherlock zipped the carry on up and started to walk out of the flat. "Oh, and please, do try and enjoy yourself a bit."

Martin nodded again and had the odd experience of watching himself walk out the door.

**oOo **_When you have eliminated the impossible… _**oOo**

Sherlock made a few minor adjustments to the way he carried himself as he walked back through the airport. Nobody looked at him or paid him any mind. He sat himself back down where he had found Martin earlier and took off the hat and ran his long fingers through now short and orange hair.

Normally, he would save this action for if he was genuinely distressed, but he had noticed Martin seemed to do it quite often. The role shouldn't be too hard, if anything, his biggest obstacle would be dealing with Douglas Richardson. _From Austin to Boston…_ He allowed himself a small smile before pretending to be asleep.

**oOo **_...I suppose, the only thing that's left, even though it seems really weird… _**oOo**

Martin sighed and pulled the expensive coat off his shoulders, then hung it up. _What am I going to do? I have no idea how to pull this off… I mean, I do suppose it is a holiday…_

He looked over the list Sherlock had given him and read it aloud to himself, "_Possible Alibis?_ What is this? It's like I'm committing a crime! 'You are bored.' Well, at the moment, yes, but is that really something that would put a person in their room all day?" Martin wandered around the flat, folding the paper nervously in his hands then tucking it in his pocket. _If I lived a life like this, I'd do as much as I could…_

At one point, he decided that he was hungry. Sherlock didn't think of treating him to breakfast at any point, so he opened the refrigerator, then immediately wished he hadn't. Martin blinked twice then opened the door again, peering cautiously inside before shutting it close again. _There was a bloody hand in there. Literally a blood stained hand sitting on a plate. _He groaned, _This is going to be harder than I already thought!_

**oOo **_…Must be the truth. _**oOo**

Sherlock had actually dozed off in the uncomfortable chair, and was awakened by the gentle prodding of a man who seemed to be thirty in age, but twelve at heart.

"Skip! It's time to go now. Mum says your hours are up, however you spent them," The man gave Sherlock a small, sad glance. "I was hoping that you were going to be able to spend the night with us, but you know mum… Oh! I wanted to tell you! I saw your twin this morning!"

Sherlock groaned, both for the act and because he wasn't quite sure how to deal with this person he was sure was Arthur Shappey.

"Arthur, what time is it?"

"Well, it's twenty o'clock, so… twelve hours… um…"

A deep voice, one made for radio, rang out behind him, "It is 8 PM, _sir_. I do hope you enjoyed your time off."

"Quite…" Sherlock sized up the first officer and decided that just maybe, he was going to have "Martin" win a few word games during the next week or so, just to show this man up.

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><p><strong>Oh dear… I made you all wait a real long time. I'm really sorry. Honest. BUT! I have returned! TADA! ~Kootenai<strong>


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